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The Poetical Works of Hemans, Heber and Pollok: Complete in One Volume ...
Felicia Dorothea Browne Hemans
No preview available - 2018
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Page 16 - The martyr first, whose eagle eye Could pierce beyond the grave, Who saw his Master in the sky, And called on Him to save: Like Him, with pardon on his tongue In midst of mortal pain, He prayed for them that did the wrong: Who follows in his train?
Page 17 - BY cool Siloam's shady rill, How sweet the lily grows ! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon's dewy rose ! 2 Lo ! such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod ; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God...
Page 21 - Holy, holy, holy! all the saints adore thee, Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea...
Page 65 - E'en while with us thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust to its narrow house beneath ! Soul to its place on high ! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.
Page 14 - I have trodden the winepress alone ; and of the people there was none with me : for I will tread them in mine anger, and trample them in my fury ; and their blood shall be sprinkled upon my garments, and I will stain all my raiment. For the day of vengeance is in mine heart, and the year of my redeemed is come.
Page 26 - Waft, waft, ye winds, his story, And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole ! Till o'er our ransom'd nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign ! SPRING.
Page 305 - The stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.
Page 332 - Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ; Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair ; Sorrow and death may not enter there ; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child !
Page 23 - Lo, the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield ! Hark to nature's lesson given By the blessed birds of Heaven. Every bush and tufted tree Warbles sweet philosophy ; ' Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow : God provideth for the morrow. ' Say, with richer crimson glows The kingly mantle than the rose : Say, have kings more wholesome fare Than we poor citizens of air ? Barns nor hoarded grain have we, Yet we carol merrily. Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, God provideth for the morrow.